


Call Your Name

by midnightdown (sailorsuga)



Series: 1D Drabble Series [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6499615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorsuga/pseuds/midnightdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Love is meant to be forever, now or never seems to discard’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Your Name

**Author's Note:**

> (2010/11): So I wrote this at like three in the morning on a whim after this song came on my iPod…yeah so it may or may not be so good. Meh, hope you like :) The song is Call Your Name by Daughtry which you can listen to with this story if you want.
> 
> (2016): I really had a thing for songfics back in the day, sue me. As always, I was 14 so please forgive my ignorance. There may be grammar or spelling errors which, like always, I'm not changing because I'd like to leave my past fics as is. There's referenced character death and the abuse of alcohol in this depressing little drabble. Please do not read if that may trigger or bother you.

_And when you fall apart_

_Am I the reason for your endless sorrow?_

_There's so much to be said and with a broken heart_

_You walls can only go down but so low_

_Can you hear me when I call your name?_

-

 

Harry didn’t like waking up in the mornings.

Mornings reminded him too much of those blurry, groggy, painful images that had been pushed to the farthest parts of his mind for so long.

It reminded him too much of the echoes that would bounce off these thin beige walls because of another one of his and Liam’s screaming matches; the lamps and vases broken from Harry tossing them at Liam and watching them shatter on the wall behind him with tear-filled eyes; the complaints from neighbors and police reports from all the noise they were making.

It reminded him too much of the warmth that he was no longer privileged to wake up to; the soft sleeping features as Liam would mumble in his sleep; the smell of apple and cinnamon shampoo that would plug Harry’s senses and send his heart into over drive as he’d snuggle closer to Liam.

It had been a year since then; a year since Harry last smiled; a year since they had their last fight; a year since they last made up; a year since their last kiss; a year since he left.

Harry couldn’t say the other word yet.

And sometimes, and it was mostly during drunken hazes, Harry thought that Liam was still there.

During nights where Harry would stumble down dark alleyways and empty sidewalks, intoxicated and so drunk that he could barely stand straight, he take another gulp of the sour liquid and another for the sole purpose of forgetting his image; his voice; his face; his name.

“Who’s Liam Payne?” he’d slur and he was too out of it to be aware of the sympathetic looks; the pitying stares he’d receive.

He was glad for that, though, he didn’t want their pity; their sympathy. He didn’t need it because he was just fine.

He didn’t miss him. He didn’t miss his overbearing attitude and his nagging voice; or his neat-freak tendencies and his lectures on responsibility and trust and maturity. He didn’t miss his singing voice or the way he laughed when Harry would do something clumsy or child-like excitement when Toy Story would pop up on the television screen.

He didn’t miss any of it; he never gave a damn about any of it...

Or so he liked to believe.

And as he’d stagger down the road, it felt like he never left; like that night in the hospital had never happened and it had all just been a terrible nightmare.

Like he never saw that building burn to the ground.

Like he didn’t scream and cry out his name through sobs as a fireman held him back and prevented him from running into that burning building.

Like they weren’t even separated and they were just lying in bed, sleeping the whole day through with nobody but each other, Liam whispering song lyrics into Harry’s ear like lullabies until his eyes fluttered shut and sleep claimed him.

He thought he could feel him; his calloused fingertips ghosting over Harry’s jaw line and tangling in his curly chocolate-colored hair; his full, pink lips pressing little butterfly kisses all over Harry—his neck, his chapped lips, his nose, his tear-stained cheeks.

And then, as Harry’s eyes would open to the morning light shining through the curtains of his—no, not his,  _their_ bedroom windows, it all faded away like a dream—gone as soon as it happened and harry would turn to his left, a habit, and instead of seeing him, it was empty.

No warmth.

No almond-colored eyes.

Or full lips.

Or naturally curly auburn hair.

Nothing.

And Harry would curse Liam’s spirit—Liam’s very existence and place that he ever had in Harry’s life and the morning as he’d choke on a sob and curl into the sheets, inhaling the lingering scent of apple and cinnamon and craving what it used to represent—who it used to belong to.

_“Liam…”_

_Can you hear me when I call your name?_

 


End file.
